


Trying to Get Yourself All Uptight

by Randominity



Series: All These Secret Places [6]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Discipline, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:58:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/pseuds/Randominity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleanor teaches Louis a lesson every boy should learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying to Get Yourself All Uptight

"And you've already approved this?" Eleanor cups her face in her hand as she flips through the pages of the advance copy of the GQ piece Karen from PR pressed into Louis' hands earlier.

"Yeah, yeah, we looked through it," Louis says, picking up his vest from the corner of the bed and pulling it over his head. "It's not, you know, great or anything, but we checked over to make sure we weren't, like, misquoted. You can't win everyone over, I suppose."

"I reckon you can't," Eleanor agrees, her head still bowed over the article. "You were asked about me," she adds, half a question, but she doesn't look up, her hair falling in a curtain over the side of her face.

"Yeah, babe." Louis affixes his snapback while he checks the angle of the lid in the mirror, smooths his fringe down beneath it with his fingers. He grabs his phone and bounds back over to her as he pockets it in his shorts. "I'm off, love," he says, and kisses her on the top of her head, then waves behind him as he hears her murmuring response, mind already on the three new games he and Liam looked up on Joystiq that they're hoping to pop by a shop and pick up before the show tonight. He plans to thoroughly humiliate Liam at all three of them on the bus, and then he and El will have the hotel to themselves, and a late start tomorrow. It's going to be a deadly night.

**

Only it doesn't go like that at all, because although she laughs and pushes him along when they get on the bus after the show, Eleanor looks thoughtful and alert, not tired and affectionate the way she often is. She offers to watch and cheers him when he leads Liam by a lap, or scores a goal off him, and she hugs his head when Liam beats him, kisses his thumb better. There's a muted energy to her, though, that Louis would worry about if he'd been off today. He tries to remember if he's done anything wrong; if he wasn't attentive enough, if he left her too much to clean up.

"All right?" he asks her when they've arrived at their room, palming over her shoulder as he comes up behind her inside and lets their bags and his trainers drop down around them.

"Are you tired tonight?" she asks him, turning for a quick kiss and then moving farther into the room, taking her sandals off one at a time as she goes and setting them down neatly by the chair in the desk. She keeps her purse on as she checks out the toilet, switches on the light.

"No," Louis answers, climbing up on the bed in lieu of following her. "Are you?" he asks. "You've been a bit quiet."

She comes back around the corner of the suite, her hair pinned up in a bun, and presses her lips together at the sight of him. "Oh, no, off the bed," she says, waving at him. She sets her aviators down on the bedside table and comes around to meet him. "I'm gonna have a talk with you," she adds, and starts to dig around in her purse. "Go over there," she gestures vaguely at the wall. "The corner, go; I'll meet you there."

"The-- what?" Louis' stomach swoops and the hairs at the back of his neck prick up. He turns and looks at it. There's nothing in the corner to speak of; not a chair, not even a lamp. It's dim because they haven't turned on all the lights in the room. "Just-- walk there?"

"Yes, please," Eleanor says, without looking up, "go," and her voice is laced with steel, so Louis goes, because she told him twice. She's going to feel really stupid when she looks up properly and realises she made him walk into a dark corner for no reason, and he knows there's no reason, because he was fine all day, and because even his mum hasn't put him on time out since he was nine. He hopes she really feels proper stupid when she realises, because he was looking forward to spreading her open on the bed and eating her out for, like, an hour, and she's being all weird and distracted. He reaches the corner and turns around to face her, because. Because he's not done anything wrong, and she should tell him that.

Eleanor's making her way over to him, then, and takes her face out of her purse to give him a considering look. "All right," she seems to decide after a moment, "that'll make this easier."

"You put me in a corner," Louis points out. "Chair's over with the lamp, there," he nods in their direction.

Eleanor nods as well. "Right," she says. "Do you remember the interview with GQ, then?"

Louis screws up his face. "Yeah? There was a photoshoot, and interview, some stuff for the film. Long day, bloke didn't like us much, the feeling was mutual. There's not much to tell, really."

"You said something about our relationship," Eleanor prompts him. "About being faithful."

"That..." Louis narrows his eyes. "I... was?"

"Did you say," Eleanor says, and then casts her gaze across the ceiling, lazily sneering as she recites, _'The type of girls that would sleep with you in a heartbeat aren’t the type of girls I’d want to take home anyway?'_ "

"Yeah," Louis says slowly. She doesn't seem happy that he said that, but. "Because I... only want. You."

"Right," Eleanor says, nodding again, and lifts her hand out of her purse, sets it down. She's holding a roll of duct tape in her hand. "I think you've said enough for now."

"Excuse me?" Louis says, shrinking back, staring at her hand. "I haven't even-- just tell me to shut up, babe, I'll--" he snaps his mouth closed. Right, shutting it. He points to it; _no duct tape necessary_ , he says with his eyes, and downturned lips, and a solemn shake of his head.

She gives him a sad look, but tears off a strip of the duct tape regardless, so Louis doesn't see the point of her sympathy; either way he's going to get gagged. "I know you don't understand right now," she explains, and smooths the tape firmly across his mouth, sealing his lips together. "But I'll try. What's the difference between me and type of girl who'd sleep with you in a heartbeat?"

Louis stares at her blankly. _I've got duct tape on my mouth_ , he wants to say, and if she were one of the lads, he would, and make her guess at what he was saying. But the lads wouldn't have him like this, taped up while they looked at him like he's disappointed them. "There isn't one," Eleanor goes on, and reaches out to pull his t-shirt up, helps him out of it.

"Of course there is," Louis tries to say, through the duct tape, because he wouldn't be here if there weren't a difference, trusting her to strip him down and keep him from panicking because he's gagged and stood in the corner in their hotel room and he doesn't know why. _You're so fucking lovely_ , he wants to tell her. He puts his hand on her head as she kneels before him.

"The type of girl who'd sleep with you in a heartbeat might just think, _fuck, you're fit_." Eleanor pauses. "That's what _I_ thought, when I met you," she says. "I just didn't say it. Maybe I just didn't have the opportunity." She loosens the drawstring knot on his jogging shorts. "Maybe she thinks you have a nice bum, like I did." She pushes the shorts down past it, along with his pants. "What would you have thought if I'd told you that, straight away?" she asks, and adds, "keep your hands folded in front of you."

Louis hesitates, his hands hovering around the waistband of his shorts near hers. He's known girls to say things like that straight away, a cheeky "nice bum" shouted down the hall at school, and loads more since the band, where they say things far more graphic than that. "I don't know," he mumbles, communicating through tone of voice more than words. He can't remember what it was like not to know Eleanor, not to know how she felt about him. He can't imagine anymore what it would have been like to have this fit new girl he hardly knew, giggling from behind her Starbucks muffin, say what she thought of his arse. Would he have liked it? Would he have been embarrassed? Would he have thought she was more interested in his arse than his sense of humour?

He feels himself go slightly red, but clasps his hands in front of his dick the way she asked, as she works his shorts down to his ankles. She lets him step out of them, and he does, a bit unbalanced. Eleanor looks up at him while she runs her fingers up the insides of his legs, then circles them around to squeeze his arse. It makes his dick harden up a bit beneath his hands, having her watch him like that, touch him, fingers tickling in his leg hair, but it's unsettling, too, the way she's eyeing him all over.

"Maybe she _does_ want to get to know you better," Eleanor comments, as though reading his mind, "but _after_ she fucks you. Maybe she doesn't _want_ you to take her home. Maybe she hasn't decided yet, whether she does or not." Eleanor tilts her head and sits back on her heels. "What if I'd felt like that? Would that bother you?" she asks.

Louis shrugs. He doesn't know; she hadn't asked. Would he have thought differently of her? He doesn't _know_. He knows how many boys she'd been with before him, knows that it's not a lot. She might have felt like that, but she _hadn't asked_. He shakes his head, slowly. "You never asked," he repeats aloud, but through the tape it sounds like he's saying he doesn't know all over again.

"You don't know if it would bother you?" Eleanor asks, then leans in very close to where his hands are clasped. "What if I told you," she says, "I didn't offer to suck you off that first night because _you_ didn't seem like the type?" She kisses his knuckles, gently, not even jostling his fingers. "But if you had, I would have."

Louis shakes his head again. If she'd done that, he'd have... he hadn't known her at all at the time, this distant friend of a friend, and he had to keep something for himself, didn't he? She met him as Louis Tomlinson from One Direction, and if she sucked his cock, then she'd _know_ ; she'd have so much of him, and he still wouldn't have anything. "Turn around," Eleanor tells him then, and Louis' stomach drops entirely.

"No," he protests, muffled through the duct tape, shaking his head, his cheeks blazing. He's naked and taped up and he won't face the corner like a child, in the dark.

"Turn around," Eleanor says again, firmly, "and tell me why you think a girl like that's worth less to you than other girls. I'll help you out, you just let me know when I'm close."

Louis tries to communicate every regret of his day to Eleanor through his eyes, including giving her that fucking advance copy to read, but she's impassive, so he sets his jaw and turns to face the corner. He keeps his head up and looks at the seam of the walls and feels a rush of anger that quickly gives way to shame, because he's fucked up - he knows it, Eleanor's quick with a joke, but she never gives way when he's got something wrong - but he doesn't know exactly what it _is_. He's sorry she feels bad about what he said, he is, because he could never think her worth less than anyone. And he says so, because "I'm sorry" is a distinct enough sound even from behind closed lips.

"What are you sorry about?" Eleanor asks from behind him, her voice laced with mirth. It feels like she's right next to him, but she's not touching him anymore. "Are you sorry because you know what type of girl I am, now?"

"No." Louis ducks his head and takes a deep breath. He feels like he has to struggle to, with the tape over his mouth. His shoulders feel tight, rotated forward so that he can keep his hands clasped.

"Does it cheapen me, to you?" Eleanor goes on, and Louis shakes his head, hard. "Does it cheapen our sex," she asks, a bit more distantly, now, like she's backing away, "knowing I'd give it up to you that fast? Does that make it less special?"

Louis feels sick. He thinks about the first time they'd had sex, how he'd thought maybe he'd got lucky, that he could trust in Eleanor, gift her some of his little secrets. It hadn't taken long - longer than a heartbeat, but not long - but he had to be _sure_ , first, or more sure at least. He'd never understand how girls could just let someone else have them like that, without reservations. He's always thought the only way girls could was if their secrets weren't important; if they had no value. But now he thinks about how Eleanor had made offers to him early on, other offers, had taken her time and waited, and what did it mean if she'd been willing to do this from the start? He shrugs, and shakes his head, staring down at the point where the corners of the wall meet the carpet.

Her voice is suddenly very close again. "It doesn't, Lou," she says. "It's exactly as special as you want it to be, and if I'd sucked a hundred cocks before I met you, I'd still want yours now." She pauses again. "Can you believe that, Louis? Can you actually see yourself believing that?"

Louis doesn't have room behind the tape to bite his own lip, but he shudders at that, and tears prick up behind his eyes. He _knows_ Eleanor hasn't sucked a hundred cocks before his, but the thought that she'd want to -- his shoulders ache with tension, and he squeezes his fingers together. It's not jealousy, it's inadequacy he feels, he knows; the thought that she could want this with him and want it with someone else the day before, like it was _new_ , and _easy_. It's _not_ easy, it's never easy like that, and he doesn't understand. But he does believe she loves him. He can believe that. "Yes," he mumbles into the tape, and sniffles as a tear escapes and streaks down the side of his face. He tries to wipe it off on the inside of his upper arm, but it just smears around on his cheek.

"All right, then," Eleanor tells him, from what seems like a great distance; her voice carries but she doesn't raise it. "I'm going to give you some time to think about that," she says. "And I'll just get ready for bed. Stay right there -- standing. Can you do that?"

She's so far away. Louis stifles a sob and curls into himself a bit, but makes himself stay upright. He hasn't even been able to have a shower; he feels disgusting. "Yes," he says again, and he senses, rather than sees, her return to the toilet across the room from him, closing the door and washing up inside. Eleanor takes a shower and Louis lets his mind wander over varied scenarios: Eleanor, kneeling at the end of a long line of anonymous cocks she's sucked, loving it, greedy like the star of some porno. At the end of the shot she's covered in come and cleans herself up and rings Louis and calls him sweetheart, still wanting to come home to him afterward.

He pictures Eleanor, leaning across the table that first afternoon they'd met, suggesting they go somewhere private, getting into his trousers and sucking his cock. In his fantasy he lets her do it, comes in her mouth and watches her swallow. He never rings her back, though, because what kind of girl does that, with a bloke she's barely even met? In his fantasy he never gets to know her, never gets to have the life he has; only has the band and the tour and the success, but no one to look forward to at the end of it. He cries a bit more, and can't wipe it all away, snotting up the duct tape and feeling wretched and naked and cold and lonely and every bit as bad as he deserves, he reckons.

"You can turn around and face me, now," Eleanor says, and Louis turns to see her emerge from the toilet with her hair in a braid and wearing one of Louis' shirts as a sleep tee. She's carrying a hotel bathrobe in her hands, white and fluffy, and says, "there, sweetheart, are you all right? Loosen up your arms for me," and Louis unclasps his hands to grasp for her, burying his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he babbles, getting her wet as she struggles to drape the robe over him while he paws desperately up her back. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I don't think you're--" he can't breathe, voice buzzing into the tape like that, and he feels light-headed. His head aches behind the temples, and Eleanor holds him tight, manoeuvring him back towards the bed.

"I know, darling," Eleanor coos, hushing him and pulling back against his grip to fasten the robe in front. She rubs at his shoulders, and warmth slowly seeps back down into his arms, makes his fingers throb with it, before saying "tip your head back, love," and dabbing at his face with a tissue. She breaks up the duct tape adhesive with baby oil, gently stroking at him with cotton balls and wordlessly wiping away the stray tears that leak out from the corners of his eyes, until the tape comes free effortlessly, and Louis hiccups another apology.

"I didn't think," he tries to say again, as she presses a glass of water into his hands.

"Well, you will, now, won't you," Eleanor murmurs, crawling behind him on the bed to hug him there, too, kneeling up and resting her chin on his head to watch him drink.

 

end.

**Author's Note:**

> In the aftermath of the GQ article, I felt this was a long time coming. Thanks for all the support and cheerleading, and to [becka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/becka) for the summary/title help!


End file.
